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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24292030">Drip, Drop - Breathe In, Breathe Out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeryvi/pseuds/Seeryvi'>Seeryvi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And for the Tears, Angels are Dicks (Supernatural), Angst, Angst and Feels, Blood, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Castiel Loves Humanity (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Emotional Hurt, Feels, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, I write for the Feels, Injury, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Not set anywhere specific, One Shot, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Third Person, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Sad Ending, Team Free Will (Supernatural), i mean probably, tell me if i succeeded</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 06:47:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24292030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeryvi/pseuds/Seeryvi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a simple mission, but ended up being a trap made by angels for a certain fallen angel and his two friends.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>And once again it all seemed Castiel’s fault; for it was him they wanted.<i></i></i></p><p> </p><p>  <i><br/><i>- A One Shot from Castiel’s POV (Third Person) -</i><br/></i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, Castiel &amp; Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Drip, Drop - Breathe In, Breathe Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Drip</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em><strong>Drop</strong></em>.</p><p> </p><p>Feet shuffled against the dirt coated floor, dust swirling up with every step taken around the old abandoned warehouse. There was water trickling down somewhere farther into the building—Castiel could hear it as clearly as if it was located directly next to him, a steady source of crystal liquid hitting the floor the only distraction from something hammering against his chest in unusual worry. Something felt utterly out of place to him, terribly wrong and much like a trap, yet he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly made him feel this way, forcing him to keep his seemingly irrelevant troubles to himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Cass,” a voice next to him spoke up, telling him that he wasn’t nearly as subtle as he had thought and he shifted his gaze from the floor and up to both Sam and Dean Winchester looking at him with varying levels of concern shining vibrantly through their eyes as if their very soul.</p><p> </p><p>He only gave a nod in response—something that he had learned wasn’t deemed as much of a lie on Earth as it technically was, motion often rather used as means of comforting other people than answering an honest, not often vocally voiced question. For he could hear the ‘<em>Are you alright</em>’ ringing through both of the brothers, merely conveyed through a single gaze instead of spoken words.</p><p> </p><p>The silence echoed on for a while longer and Castiel attempted to force his focus to return from the water afar to his immediate surroundings, trying to let the much too loud breathing and shuffling of clothes, of feet against concrete surrounding him, enveloping him, disappear from the forefront of his mind. Tried to push the smell of sweat, the stench of rusted iron away as he lost himself in their resonance.</p><p>His hands clenched to fists, eyes wandering to Dean sneaking onwards in a slightly crouched position barely out of his grasp while Castiel’s attention focused solely on the man as a means to anchor himself to this place, this body; an action he often resolved to whenever everything became too much, too <em>unreal</em>, ever since he was running low on grace and ever since he was still feeling emotions he had come to know during his time as a human. Feelings and emotions he had not managed to discard, not even through recovering what was left of his grace.</p><p>The new sensations violently clashed with what he remembered the life of an Angel of the Lord to be, and he couldn’t help but feel troubled in aligning these different parts of himself.</p><p> </p><p>After millennia of feeling nothing, suddenly feeling so <em>much</em> often managed to catch him off guard, making him feel almost disconnected to the world around him, overwhelming him in its intensity; and as such he decided to concentrate on Dean and Dean alone. The profound bond they shared—most likely unfelt by the latter—enabling him to thoroughly and safely connect and ground himself. Everything distracting faded as he felt Dean heave a breath while hurrying around a couple of crates stacked up to an unsteady tower, felt Dean’s grip on the weapon in his hands tighten and loosen in a continuous loop of nerves, and felt Dean’s heart hammering despite his calm and collected demeanor.</p><p>Cass echoed his movements.</p><p> </p><p><em>Breathe in</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em><strong>Breathe out</strong></em>.</p><p> </p><p>His own hand tightened around the angel blade reflecting scarce light off its silver surface from the few, half broken lightbulbs hanging uneasily down from the ceiling. He pressed his back to a broken down shelf which gave a light, distraught rattle, and he tried to ignore the intense smell of rust and iron lingering in his nose even though his focus remained on Dean. Instead he shot a reassuring look towards the latter as he turned around to catch Cass in his silent distress, sharing his thoughts of comfort through a single glance alone, while Sam threw them a nod in between the boxes standing on the shelves before pressing onwards and out into the open.</p><p> </p><p>There was a snap. A punch. A crack.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Sam</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>The yell ripped from both Cass and Dean in unison as they threw themselves out of their hiding spot, caution forgotten as their only concern was the safety of Sam; Dean’s brother, Cass’ friend. And as such, caution forgotten, their response time wasn’t nearly quick enough when something hurled themselves at them from behind, when something harshly connected with Castiel’s head making him stumble before a cool blade was pressed against his throat, pressed against his skin as he took a sharp breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello <em>Castiel</em>,” a voice mumbled into his ear, low and threatening, but apart from his clenched teeth being an involuntary reaction to being captured, his gaze was locked on Dean, who fought against three people pinning him down, three <em>angels</em> pinning him down. There was so much agony welling within Castiel’s chest upon seeing Dean writhe against their grasp, fighting even as his head got unceremoniously slammed against the hard concrete floor, over and over and over, blood trickling down his temple as Cass’ screamed for them to stop; yet he simply wouldn’t stop fighting, hurling insults through bloodied teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Dean</em>—“ At that he <em>did</em> finally stop, raising his head to look at the angel, at Cass. Green eyes filled with rage slowly morphed into nothing short of sorrow, his body reluctantly growing limp in the angels’ arms as he ceased his resistance.</p><p> </p><p>And once again it all seemed Castiel’s fault; for it was him they wanted.</p><p> </p><p><em>Drip</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em><strong>Drop</strong></em>.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of blood hitting the floor rang like drums through the room, echoing and bouncing from one rusty wall to the next, over and over as if to mock the figures waiting amidst the palpable tension of silence. There was breathing, ragged and torn. It sounded rough, grating; it sounded as if it took the three broken and battered bodies restrained by angels everything they had to not drown in the blood clogging their throat.</p><p>Sam’s head laid on the ground, body slouched over from an initial position on his knees, one angel clad in a grey suit tainted with dust, dirt and blood holding his arms behind his back with a blade poking into his back, just over his heart. His breathing was shallow and his eyes closed, blood pooling from a wound on his forehead and Cass had to restrain his attempts to break free in a desire to heal him—yet, one move, and the angel behind Sam would kill him, taking Castiel’s chance to save them as if there had never been one to begin with.</p><p> </p><p>The fallen angel could only suppress a wince at his own arms being held firmly behind his back, twisted far enough so that a single movement would force a wail of pain from his chapped lips, dried out from feelings he shouldn’t experience; from anticipation, worry, sorrow, <em>fear</em>. An angel blade was pointed at his chest, tip poking the flesh below his tattered trench coat whenever his vessel’s heart gave another powerful and panicked beat.</p><p>He felt himself caught in a lie—it was <em>his</em> body now, wasn’t it? It had been for a while, ever since it had first been torn apart and brought back to life, the soul this body had once belonged to no longer residing within.</p><p>In conclusion; it was his <em>own</em> heart hammering like crazy against his rib cage, his own decidedly anxious reaction to the situation he found himself in, even as he tried to swallow the obvious distress he felt behind layers and layers of a face devoid of expression.</p><p> </p><p>But even the tiniest outcry from his friends, his <em>family</em>, was enough to break his facade even as they tried to be strong through their pain; as the angel clad in white and speckled with red behind Dean pushed the blade close enough against his throat for a trickle of crimson to run down his skin.</p><p> </p><p><em>Dean</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Stop</em>!” Castiel yelled, tip of the silvery blade momentarily being far too close to actually punctuating his chest as he moved in an instinctive motion to try and shield him from pain, from further agony inflicted by what he had once called his family, “Stop, <em>please</em>.”</p><p>It sounded like a beg, a desperate plea. And it was no doubt just that.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what it is we are asking of you,” the angel, someone he had once called a friend, who was now holding his arms behind his back and the knife pressed to his chest spoke directly into his ear, breath warm and uncomfortable against his skin, “You are a danger to heaven—yet we could very well use your cooperation.”</p><p>Images appeared in his mind, vivid and clear. Screams echoed along with the clatter of metal against a tray, a woman’s voice talking to him, unintelligible over his own pained wails as he squirmed on the chair in agony. As a silver drill got pushed past his eye, tearing through tissue and—</p><p> </p><p>“Comply and we will let the Winchesters live.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cass,” Dean whispered past the blood in his throat, the wounds inflicted on him during his struggle restricting his ability to speak, and the fallen angel couldn’t help but feel himself break apart. Dean Winchester—one of the strongest people he knew—covered in blood and cuts and bruises, held down by three angels, whispering in a broken voice; a broken name of a broken person.</p><p> </p><p><em>Dean</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The reply, the <em>urge</em> to simply say his name burned on Cass’ tongue as he itched to speak, mind reeling from being unable to intervene, from doing nothing but watch, clenching his jaw, steeling his resolve. Dean’s hair was matted against his scalp, red coating his temples in crimson roses and painting his dirty blonde hair in agony and despair. His eyes, green eyes were straining to stay open, not having lost their spark, his will to fight and resist which Castiel had admired ever since meeting him—a spark so bright it shone through his soul. Dean radiated the urge to jump to his feet and ‘<em>kick some angel ass</em>’, as he would no doubt put it. And he might have <em>indeed</em> tried despite the blade a constant threat at his throat, if it weren’t for Cass’ pleading eyes and Sam’s unconscious form being slumped over on the floor next to him, face on the dusted and dirtied ground with his arms still pinned to his back.</p><p>Sam’s brown hair fell like a halo around his bloodied head and the irony stabbed Castiel worse than any angel blade ever could—for the Winchesters were more of his family than his actual family had ever been. They were the ones that taught him to think, to question; to not solely rely on orders and the words of others. They were the ones to teach him the value of free will.</p><p> </p><p>Castiel had been a loyal soldier for a long, long time, had seen what everyone else could not, had seen and partaken in murders, in executions, in pointless hunts without any doubts, without any hints of questions burning for answers in his mind.</p><p>And it was part of that—teaching him the ability to question—that made the Winchesters so much better people than anyone else could ever be. It was the proposition of free will that made Cass utter questions, looking for answers all over the place, making him defy orders and instead helping in saving the world, saving the <em>people</em>. In his siblings’ minds he was fallen, fallen ever since he had raised Dean Winchester from perdition by grasping his soul and hurling him out of hell. He had fallen in every way possible; something his siblings kept reminding him of whenever their paths crossed.</p><p>It was Dean who made him fall, who made him fall and caught him on his way down. He was the one that showed him beauty in humankind more than any observation, any lecture ever could, showed him flaws, possibilities, emotions, helped him rediscover the world he thought he knew. All of it was <em>Dean</em>, and for him he would fall all over again, until the end of time if he had to.</p><p> </p><p>“I will go with you—“ the words felt hollow on Castiel’s lips as they passed through his mouth, as he caught Dean still looking up at him from the corner of his eyes—“ I will not fight you and I will subject myself to whatever punishment you seem fit without any resistance nor questions.”</p><p> </p><p>If it would keep them safe, he would accept anything, no matter what.</p><p> </p><p><em>Breathe in</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em><strong>Breathe out</strong></em>.</p><p> </p><p>He swallowed hard, allowing his gaze to drift back to Dean’s inquiring green eyes, watching his eyebrows furrow in disbelief before shifting to sorrow and fear, watching sweat roll down his temple and mingling with blood—watching eyes slightly swollen and red, starting to brim with tears that refused to fall in the face of enemies. His breathing still echoed sharply through the abandoned warehouse they had been lured into under the apparent false impression of saving people from a vicious, violent nest of vampires.</p><p> </p><p>Just a couple of hours ago their laughter had filled the silence of Cass’ mind, their mirth and joy as Dean had prepared breakfast with a smile on his face, as Sam had explained something he had discovered in one of the many books strewn across the entire library in the bunker and Dean had grinned and called him a nerd while Cass merely sat at a table with the tiniest hint of a smile gracing his lips.</p><p>Just a couple of hours ago everything had seemed <em>extraordinarily</em> alright in their messy and often distraught life—and now Sam’s excitement was nowhere to be seen in his closed eyes and on his battered face, and Dean’s laughter was replaced by choked up noises in an attempt to swallow the grief and breathe past the blood. Even if it hurt—and it <em>did</em> hurt a lot, the mere thought of leaving them behind—Castiel would do <em>anything</em> to keep them safe.</p><p> </p><p>Still, even he couldn’t keep his sight from getting blurred by the beginning of tears trying to spill from his eyes, as Dean’s eyes were a silent plea, a silent question asking for an immediate answer. An answer Cass was aware he couldn’t give, reassurance he couldn’t offer, if he wanted to protect what he loved the most.</p><p> </p><p>“...Cass—“ Dean tried again, breaking off only to cough as blood flooded his throat, making him splutter as crimson burst out of his mouth, as warm red trickled down his chin in hot and thick drops, creating another sound on the floor, adding to the melody of despair already sounding through the room. It hurt, it hurt so much Castiel couldn’t believe there was a time in which he had been incapable of feeling such emotions—hurt so much just to see Dean break.</p><p> </p><p>“Cass, <em>please</em>,” he continued on and the angel could feel his intestines crumpling and twisting and turning inside him, leaving him feeling worse than any form of torture he had encountered over his truly long life had left him to feel, “<em>Please</em> don’t—“</p><p> </p><p>It takes a lot for a Winchester to beg and even more for Dean Winchester to do so. And Castiel certainly wasn’t proud that he was the reason for it.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Yes.</p><p>Castiel would fall for the end of time to protect Sam and Dean Winchester. He would choose brutal death, endless torture, <em>anything</em> just to keep them safe.</p><p>And as such he found himself oddly at peace when the angels surrounding Sam and Dean retreated, allowed them to move just far enough for Dean to pick up Sam’s limp body from the floor, to cradle his beaten, bruised and bloodied little brother in his arms, knives still pointed at them just in case Dean decided to fight what had been agreed upon. He felt himself oddly at peace even when his <em>siblings</em> snapped him onto a familiar looking chair back in heaven, with a certain familiar looking tool sprawled out on a familiar looking table next to him whilst being surrounded by familiar looking white walls. Oddly at peace, even when the restraints tightened on his wrists, on his ankles, around his torso, even when the silver gleaming drill was calmly picked up and slowly advanced towards his eye, coming closer and closer, panic starting to bleed through to him despite the amounts of adrenaline still surging through his veins.</p><p> </p><p>Yet, if he knew they were safe, why did it hurt so much?</p><p>Not when the needle tore through the corner of his eye, when the device punctuated his brain—but when Dean’s pained, heart wrenching cry upon seeing the angels seize Cass echoed through his head, when the image of a lonely tear escaping the man’s fierce and usually so controlled face burned itself inside of his mind. When Dean’s cry mingled with his and Dean’s tear mixed with the blood and tears of his own running down his face and onto the ground;</p><p>Why did it <em>hurt</em> so much?</p><p> </p><p><em>Drip</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em><strong>Drop</strong></em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my introduction into this Fandom! Hey guys! :D</p><p>If you know me from my Marvel Fanfiction you might know my love for writing angst and hurt...If not, hello there...and sorry in advance?</p><p>Just fell in love with the series and decided to procrastinate my other story by writing this One Shot!</p><p>(I’m still conflicted on whether to write Cas or Cass—)</p><p> </p><p>Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments would make me extremely happy! :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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